In Liberty City, a banquet was in full swing. The Fourth Prince, Liam, was playing host to a gathering of minor nobles summoned from across the Western Lands.
"Hahaha... Welcome, everyone!" Liam raised his goblet, beaming with apparent joy. "It truly warms my heart to see you all here."
"The honor is ours, Your Highness," Chirped a group of about a dozen barons, their voices dripping with sycophancy.
"Indeed! The moment word of your summons reached me, I set out immediately!"
The local nobles of the Western Lands had long been looked down upon by those from the inland territories. The West was poor, and its nobility was often seen as either hedonistic or stagnant. These minor lords were desperate to escape their poverty, and the Fourth Prince represented their best shot at a promotion. Living in a news vacuum, a Prince was, in their eyes, the ultimate patron. They had come running at his call, each hoping to climb the social ladder.
"With your support, I will undoubtedly claim the throne," Liam boasted, fueled by the wine. "When that day comes, every one of you shall see your titles elevated."
Though these minor nobles weren't much to look at, they held the local manpower. If each provided a dozen knights and a few thousand pounds of wheat, it would be enough to fuel his grand ambitions for rebellion.
"We await your orders, Your Highness!"
"I shall bring my knights at once to serve your cause!"
Boasting was a skill they all shared, and these minor lords exaggerated their strength wildly just to leave an impression on the prince.
"Good, good! Drink!" Liam laughed heartily, though a flash of disdain crossed his squinted eyes as he looked at the uncouth lot. Typical backwater nobles, he thought. Not a shred of true aristocratic grace among them.
Tramp, tramp, tramp…
As the bragging continued, Viscount Louis returned to the hall. He looked restless, a ruthless glint flickering in his eyes.
"Your Highness, your servant has returned," Louis bowed quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the gaze of Count George sitting nearby and gave a subtle, hand signal.
Count George's lips curled into a cold, sharp smirk.
"Ah, Viscount Louis is back!" Liam's eyes lit up. He glanced toward the entrance and asked with confusion, "Where is this Baron Lucas? Why isn't he with you?"
"This..." Louis lowered his head, putting on a show of dejection.
"Why are you stammering? Speak!" Liam's face darkened as a bad premonition took hold.
"Your Highness, I... I dare not say," Louis said, his face a mask of grief.
"I grant you immunity. Speak," Liam commanded coldly.
"Your Highness, that Baron Lucas is utterly ungrateful. He wouldn't even look at your order before rejecting it. He even said... he said you were..." Louis lowered his head again, his eyes gleaming with hidden malice.
"What did he say?" Liam's voice was like ice, the veins on his hands bulging. A mere Baron had dared to refuse his summons.
"Lucas said you were... a... a 'beaten cur,' unworthy of his loyalty," Louis stammered out the words. He was actually a bit terrified; if the prince took his rage out on the messenger, Louis would be dead for nothing.
Silence. Dead silence.
The surrounding nobles gaped in shock. The dozen or so minor lords from the West pulled their heads in, terrified of being caught in the impending explosion.
Crash!
Liam's eyes bulged. He smashed his favorite ceramic cup onto the floor, his teeth grinding with an audible crack. He glared at Louis and hissed, "He truly said that?"
"He did."
Louis kept his head down, screaming internally: Lucas, oh Lucas! You were so arrogant, weren't you? Looked down on us, didn't you? Just wait until the prince wipes you off the map!
"Your Highness, it is beneath you to be moved to anger by a lowly, backwater noble," Count George said in a deep, gravelly voice.
His words caused the faces of the local lords to flush red. Lucas is a lowly noble? they thought. Then what does that make us? Lucas was the most successful noble in the West. Rumor had it that the warehouses of Sedona City were overflowing with gold, his knights wore full steel armor, and they had so much wheat and meat they couldn't finish it all. If Lucas was lowly, who wasn't? This count?
The local nobles looked at George with looks of pure disgust, as if they were staring at a maggot.
"Hmph. To think a mere Baron would dare defy my direct order. How bold," Liam said, his voice thick with murderous intent.
If word of this defiance spread, his authority would be questioned. He had to retaliate to re-establish his fear and majesty as a prince. His previous thoughts of recruiting talent were gone; anyone who poked at his insecurities deserved to die.
"Your Highness, allow me to go and bring Lucas to you," George requested immediately. He wanted the legal authority to crush Lucas personally.
"Take a thousand knights," Liam said coldly. "I wish to see what he looks like. A face is all I need."
"Understood." George knew exactly what that meant: bring back Lucas's head. A dead man still has a face, after all.
"Go." Liam rose and swept out of the hall, all his desire for wine having vanished.
"Count George, may I accompany you?" Louis asked hurriedly.
"Of course," George replied with a cold grin. He could finally exact his revenge with his own hands.
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